Paper Airplane
by ibuberu
Summary: Their fairytale was not a fairytale. — SimonNia.


**P ****a p e r **

**A i r p l a n e s**

* * *

All the females he knew in his life underground were generally three key things – sly, judging and harsh.( But gorgeous, breathtaking and beautiful and incredibly out of his league. So he turned to the dirt and shoveled through ground that would never shun him and hiss and spit.)

Yoko was no different, playing with his feelings so obliviously that it was heartbreaking, naming him as a sidekick to Kamina in the beginning of their acquaintance – most of all, she was ruthless, cold, though no one felt it but Simon. It was the way her hair burned and her bare skin gleamed under the sun (orange, majestic, blinding in his eyes as he tried to remember that this was reality, they were above ground), the way she stared at him, her eyes filled with pity and sympathy that was not proper sympathy. She wouldn't understand him – they had both lost something the day Aniki had departed, but what was lost was different, someone else entirely, two unassociated men far shy of each other (a ruthless brother, a cold-hearted lover), they couldn't relate by any possible means. Despite that, the charity she showed was too suffocating (it was so loving that is was not), so unreal it just drove him further back into the shadows of his room and coaxed the tears from his stinging eyes.

But _she_ was none of those three labels; she was everything that they weren't – she was innocent, accepting and sweet, all hopes wrapped in a full smile, soaring wishes in eyes that shined a spectrum of blue, green, pink(rainbows of overwhelming emotions, none of which were pity or sympathy). She was not simply beautiful – she was adorable, delicate, and warm and _holding his hand_.

_Nia_, she was called, all star-flecked eyes and distant-sugary voice, as if she was born miles and miles away and raised in a utopia of angels and harps. She smelt nothing like the ground he loved, the blood permeating thick in the haze, the hate and the sorrow hovering over the graveyard of bones and flesh. Her scent was something else entirely, that he did not know of but would later discover as the wonder named _flowers _(fragile, short-lasting, born under the sun and unable to grow underground). She was grinning out of focus as she climbed out of the mysterious crate.

She was everything he was not; she was everything that everything else (everyone, every living being, reality itself) was not. She was kind, giving, emotional, optimistic – accepting. His heart flipped in his chest. No one was meant to be so nice and forgiving and hopeful, not in a world like this with explosions wracking the air, Beastmen tearing through the desert, where life was so fragile and death loomed captively over everyone's heads.

But she did not acknowledge those facts; she did not mind his dirty face and heavy eyes. Her fingers closed around his – like sky to ground merging in the area in between, and she guided him out of the darkness of the tunnels into the light of the new day, sitting on his lap with arms around his neck, making him feel like half the man Kamina was as they flew over the quelled warlands and into the cheers and smiles of the Dai-Gurren Brigade.

Her cooking was unforgettable, he recalled.

Nia never touched nor met Kamina before, but she knew him like family, like a brother she would never see, but someone who was there, bursting with life in her mind. She sat next to him on starry nights, crackling fire of the rest of the brigade crew burning a few feet away in the background. They shared a thick furry blanket and huddled on a dry log when the desert breeze picked up, their hands linked with laced fingers as he recounted and traced out memories of Kamina in the night sky for her to see and experience and fall in love with. The man, the brother, the friend and ultimately the person who had helped him out of his shell, who craved a path that everyone grappled to follow.

Whenever he broke down and cried, she gave him her shoulder – and sometimes, she shed tears too.

One year, they went to visit Kamina, for he had not gone to see him for awhile, and she was eager to follow. He tied the red cape even tighter onto the stick, relieved that they had come by before it could've been blown off by stray wind. They sat together, hips and shoulders touching as they created indents in the sand, drawing smiling faces with a stray twig, and he introduced Kamina to Nia. She talked to Aniki, about how she had heard so much, how she thought he was amazing, how she was in awe, (she turned to face him now) and how she would treasure _him_, take care of _him_, never leave _him_. She said it with such earnest and sincerity and promise in her words, he whispered an apology to his Aniki, before using a hand to carefully tilt her chin so that they were staring into each other's eyes – dry mud to blooming flowers – waiting for the moment she laughed, initiated, and kissed him on the lips.

Later, she touched Kamina's grave, bowed her head and smiled wonderfully, stars dancing in her eyes, sealing the deal.

He celebrated the beginnings of what would be a metropolitan city by purchasing a dress for her from the first boutique that opened shop in Kamina City. It was bubblegum pink and hugged her body and brought out her eyes, hair, smile, face, her everything. It was simple with plain ribbons and soft hues, nothing too fancy, but Nia loved it, and wore it every other day, washing it with her own bare hands and caressing the common silk to her cheek. He grinned bashfully, kissed her nose, allowed their foreheads to meet, and told her she looked adorable every single day.

He planned, constructed, imagined, dreamed and believed their lives together as he polished the diamond with the handkerchief she had knitted for him for his birthday six years ago. They would celebrate a honeymoon across the oceans and on the mountains because he knew she loved those places the most, he would kiss her there and here and everywhere and make her remember how he loved her and why she loved him back. Their house would be modest, small and cosy – never extravagant because Nia would find no joy or pride out of that, but he would be able to sleep next to her every night and that was what made the house perfect. They would have children, two (a boy and a girl) who would grow up and learn from Gimmy and Darry, pilot the Gurren Lagann skillfully (but nowhere as good as him and Kamina, of course), they would piggyback them and hug them and love them with all their hearts, clap their hands and toast wine during each of their weddings.

He took two months to buy the ring. Rossiu told him to go for something classy but small (after filing all the paperwork, though). Leeron insisted it be five carats at least, and not to go for diamonds but rubies, for the red symbolized passion that would bring them superb luck in their relationship. Grandpa snorted under his beard, pointing to the image of a plain golden band in the catalogue before trudging off.

He weaved in and out of shops between breaks, when Nia would not be in town, scouring high and low, but finding nothing that matched what the (generally) testosterone opinion had said. As a last resort, Yoko screamed and hollered and scolded him through the static of the phone, reminding him that Nia would love anything he bought, and just propose as soon as possible for hell's sake, it would be a burden to wait any more.

But he found it. One cloudless afternoon when he was out to lunch with Nia and they were walking by a cute small shop he had never noticed before, he glimpsed it. It was situated on the corner of a dark street, squished between roads that contained a mall and a bowling alley. He gazed absently into the window, and saw the ring staring right back at him, twinkling with the same sparkle he saw in Nia's eyes as they continued down the road, she failing to notice his brief distraction. But that was it – the ring he had been looking for, it was nothing like the men had pointed out – it gleamed different colours under the sun and was quite tiny compared to other considerations he had made. He ran back over later to plead for the ring, holding the box to his chest and tucking it into his pocket.

But the night he spun out their future with threads of love and promise, (whispered into her ear while tucking back a sea of rainbow hair, laughed and grinned sheepishly and watched her eyes shine and her face light with the exact expression he held when he thought of their future) it fell apart right in front of his eyes – painfully like a Gunman slicing the air in a brilliant arc, only to crash and burn into the wall of reality, of everything in the world (and beyond that).

In court with cuffs straining his sore wrists and something else chaining his heart, he bit back the poison of betrayal in his throat, the feeling suppressed only by the stab of pain of Nia's sudden disappearance. He glared at Rossiu straight in the eye, said man in robes drenched white and shoulders squared. Where was the humble boy who had surfaced with him seven years ago? (The one who believed in justice and heaven and God and good things, the one he had grown to trust with his life.) He wondered if it was alright to end life now, Nia was gone – gone, lost, misplaced.

But then Nia was _not gone_ in the next second, appearing before him with different eyes and mouth furled. These eyes were not green, blue, pink, gold, and love, they were sharp, distant, cold, tortuous. And suddenly she looked sly, judging, harsh (beautiful and not adorable) – he started and held back his words, desperately keeping tears from sluicing down his face. Had they streamed down his face, they'd probably fall right through her data-composed body (they'd have stained her usual bubblegum dress terribly) and it would've been a rare mixture of joy and sorrow – of seeing Nia, yet _not seeing her_.

Locked in prison, when he believed Viral to be sound asleep, sensitive ears blocked by the guttural sounds of madness, (of prisoners crying themselves to insanity and grunts of those who were punching, pulling and fighting for escape) he closed his eyes and imagined (remembered) their future, and that was what kept him sane and grounded and alive.

Travelling space, crossing dimensions and slicing through the fabrics of the cosmos, he pinned his mind on one goal alone, one solid goal that was suddenly achievable and attainable – no matter what the cost.

_I've come for you_, he said, deliberately trying to act suave even though all he wanted to do was to kiss her senseless and wrap his hands around her shoulders. She grinned, flowers yet again dazzling in her unbreakable gaze. He swept her in his arms and threw his jacket around her, and she snuggled and fit perfectly into his (their) seat.

As the explosion died down and the remnants of the enemy disintegrated into unseeable dust, he felt her hand leave his for a split second, even though her palm was obviously resting, unmoving and directly perched on his knuckles.

He stiffened, stared, and understood (holding back tears).

The night before the wedding, they slept soundly together for about an hour or so, dropping onto his bed because the ordeals of planning and keeping her together and tangible had been too taxing and draining. But he kissed her awake, soon after, unable to wait any longer (what if she disappeared jus then?) clamping her wrist and grabbing her waist. He hugged her to him, breathing her in (roses and irises) and feeling the softness to her hair, hands roaming between meeting lips, shyly, uncertainly at first. He would remember Nia, the weight of her in his hands, her sighing into his neck and her fingers threading his hair and her eyes staring at him and only him. The way her legs stretched and hooked; how milky and light her arms were and the defined curve between her hips and waist, how her lips tasted and kissed and loved. The skin on her inner thigh and the sensitive spot on her shoulder, he paid attention to everything as she shuddered against his chest, her right breast heaving against him. She repeated how much she had missed him, saying his name over and over again with curled toes and cherry lips. How she believed in him, believed in him – _believed in him_, tears leaking and sobs breaking through what should have been gasps of ecstacy.

He held her close like that was no tomorrow (because there wasn't).

As the ring caught the sun (orange, majestic, blinding), it reflected rays of blue, green and pink (rainbows of emotions surrounding him, none of which were pity or sympathy). The assembly stilled in unison, staring at him with eyes that he would remember for the rest of his life – recognition, joy, lilting faces as they wordlessly wished him luck and shouted out endearing goodbyes. He threw the cloak over his shoulders and craned his neck to the sky, tears drying before they rolled past his cheeks.

He never buried the ring; he brought Nia wherever he went, over mountains and through burrowed tunnels, across churning seas and through the breath of the atmosphere. He collected flowers from fields that were undisturbed by Spirals and Beastmen, savouring their scent because they reminded him so much of her. He gave the bouquets to little girls in a quaint little school, ruffled the hair of the boys and asked them for their names. He remembered them because Nia would have, Nia would have treasured everyone she knew (regardless of who they were), would have given her heart to anyone of them. He presented to her the sight of children frolicking under the purple sky and in light showers from above. He talked to her, asked her if she could see their children in the crowd of giggles and grins too, holding hands and running to keep up with one another, maybe falling down (but getting straight back up because they were _their_ kids) and finally into their embrace. From the beach of the island, he smiled and waved to the teacher with the burning hair and gleaming skin, but did not exchange words because there was nothing to say. He watched a sunrise that bleached skies pink, orange and gold, which would have moved her to tears, and kissed her because he knew she would have liked that.

And when Simon finally slept, he clutched her in his palm and didn't let go.

She was the air and he was the ground, they reached out for the breadth between.


End file.
